Curtains
by seriousish
Summary: The longest hours of Mary-Jane’s life are waiting for Peter to come home. Sometimes, coming home doesn’t make things any better. Comicverse, PeterxMJ


High points and low points. Mary-Jane knew that was what every marriage was made out of. She was lucky, or cursed, depending on when you asked her. Her high points were time spent with Peter. Not just a romantic dinner or a vacation or the sex… although God knows she wouldn't say no to more of that… but just being in the same room as him while they watched a sitcom, or eating ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner or doing dishes. Dishes, for Christ's sake! Just as long as she was with him, it was fun and affectionate and… perfect.

The low points… lucky or cursed. Her marriage's low points weren't fights or drawn-out silences or affairs. No, her low points were waiting, watching him on TV, being threatened by supervillains (although she'd gotten pretty adept at defending herself, so long as the threatener was C-list or under), and times like this.

Peter had come in through the window, dressed in that suit that at times like this she could never figure out how she'd once thought it was sexy. The blue parts were soaked into darkness and the red seemed to escape and spread over the black stitching that covered it. He seemed like one massive wound. Taking the mask off didn't help.

"Peter, oh God, Pete!"

"Ock," he said with a boxer's tongue, mouth swollen and unwieldy. She dragged him in from the windowsill, feeling his blood under her fingernails. "It was Ock… I beat him, tho…"

"Of course you did." Of course he did. He always did. And he always paid a price. And she paid it too.

He had just enough energy left to help her get him to the couch. One of his boots had been torn up and his toes poked out. The toenails were black. That was a bad sign, she knew. Instantly, she hit the med-alert button by the phone.

After the Superhuman Registration Act had been repealed, Peter hadn't moved back into the Stark Tower. No one wanted much of Tony Stark's hospitality. The new apartment was a sizable dent in their paychecks, but it was worth it to put some distance between them and Peter's erstwhile mentor. However, the benefits of having a room in a superhero headquarters… the security… had it hard to ignore. So they'd come up with a compromise.

The med-alert button summoned robots from the Baxter Building, in this case doctor-bots. Mary-Jane winced as they teleported in, the whine of the mini-wormholes echoing off the walls and the sharp scent of rayon filling the air. They quickly ascertained the problem and went to work. MJ held her husband's hand as a syringe-finger shot him full of painkillers. She held it for as long as possible before the doctor-bots forced her to move away and let them set his bones, bandage his wounds, treat his ills. If only they could trust a human doctor with the terrible, wonderful, terrible secret that sat atop their marriage like…

Despite the doctor-bots, Mary-Jane felt terribly alone. Robots didn't notice when humans cried. They didn't offer comfort. They didn't care.

Twenty minutes later, they pronounced Peter to be in stable condition and teleported back to the Baxter Building. Peter came to a few minutes later, straight out of a nightmare. Mary-Jane gave him water and antibiotic pills to prevent infections.

"You said it was Otto Octavius."

Peter nodded. He was still in pain. The spider-suit clung to him like a second skin. With the bandages over it, and the suit cut open in places to allow the doctor-bots access, he seemed strangely nude. No, vulnerable. Mary-Jane tugged a blanket over him, put a cushion under his head.

"Otto had buddies. Brand new fan club, just for me. Came out of nowhere. Barely fought them off… said they were going to come for you after they finished with me. Hurt innocent people, crime spree…" He was barely lucid, tripping over his tongue, eyelids blinking fast. "Had to stop them. I was so fast, MJ, but there were so many of them… had to… Daredevil!" He sat bolt upright, ignoring the pain he must've felt, and Mary-Jane took hold of him before he could get to his feet. With muted strength she pressed him back down. "Took the fight to that block in Hell's Kitchen scheduled for demolition. Matt helped out… saved me… he okay?"

"I'll ask," Mary-Jane promised.

"Please, just…" Peter was lapsing back into his comatose state. "Just check…"

She kissed him on the nose, which miraculously wasn't broken, and went to dial Luke.

Peter was her hero. Always had been, always would be. Her brave, stupid, indomitable hero. Had to put others first, had to think of others even on death's door…

_Don't say that!_ MJ scolded herself fiercely. Peter had been through worse, lots worse. She should know, she had been there with him through it all. He'd pull through. The doctor-bots had said so. And if they were wrong, she'd personally turn each and every last one of them into scrap metal.

Jessica picked up on the third ring and Mary-Jane asked if she knew anything about Daredevil.

"He's at the hospital, took a pretty big shock from Electro. He thought his heart had burned out, but he's already on his feet. Actually, he's asking if your boy's alright."

Mary-Jane silently thanked Jesus, God, Buddha, and Thor. "Peter's gonna be fine. Tell him Peter said thanks."

"Will do." A note of concern entered Jessica Drew's voice. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Peachy, Jess. Just peachy. I'll get back to you."

She hung up before anything more could be said. Peter moaned in his sleep, long and pained.

For about six hours she sat by his side, unable to sleep, unable to do anything except stare at him with her hands at her mouth. She only moved away to cancel her photo shoot the next morning and use the bathroom. Peter moved in his sleep, tearing some of his stitches, and she redressed that wound.

At some point she must've fallen asleep, because when she woke up the couch was empty and there were bloody footprints leading to the bathroom. She walked in to see him with one leg on the toilet, swapping out his bandages for fresh ones.

"Matt Murdock's fine," was all she could think to say.

Peter shoved his old, bloody bandages into the waste bin. "Good. I didn't mean to wake you. Had to use the can."

She kissed him then. She was too happy to do anything else. When he finally pulled away, his expression was pained.

"Hurts?" she asked.

"Good kind of hurt. But could we pace ourselves?"

She kissed him, a lot lighter, on the forehead. "Back on the couch, I'll make us breakfast."

"Oh, hon, I could do that. You look tired, you should go back to sleep… maybe in the bed this time, it cost us enough…"

Resolutely, Mary-Jane grabbed him by the hand and dragged him back to the couch, where she sat him down. Then she shoved the remote into his hand. With one last, loving motion of her hand over the unbandaged part of his face, she left him alone.

In short order she had some runny eggs fixed. Thankfully, Peter was listening to reason for once. He was sprawled out with that Mythbusters marathon they'd Tivoed half a year ago but never gotten around to watching. Mary-Jane ran her fingers through the tuffs of hair that came through his bandages.

"Breakfast is served," she said, setting his plate down on the coffee table.

Peter grabbed and kissed her hand. "MJ, you're one in a million."

"A jackpot, one might say," she teasingly replied, and sat down beside him. "Sucks, though, that it seems like the only time we get to spend together is when you've been mortally wounded."

"It's just fall-out from SRA being repealed." Peter winced as he discovered a pain he'd been previously unaware of. "Things will settle down as soon as the criminals get wise to the new status quo..."

Mary-Jane nodded, although Peter had been repeating that like a mantra for the last three months. Peter didn't spend much time lucid… he slipped back into unconsciousness halfway through the second episode. Mary-Jane put the TV on mute and did some chores. Some Febreze took out the blood on the carpet, although it took half the bottle to get it all out. Then she cleaned out the inside of the oven, which no one ever _saw_, but it was better than watching Peter sleep. For want of anything better to do, she made herself a margarita and sipped it while she balanced the checkbook. Another month of being in the black. _That_ couldn't last.

It was noon before the phone rang. _Stupid, MJ, real stupid!_ She snatched it up and pressed the handset to her chest; Peter stirred, but didn't wake up. After a tense moment, she put the phone to her ear.

Tony.

"Mary-Jane, put Peter on the line."

"He can't come to the phone at the moment," Mary-Jane said, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"It's Avengers business. We need the team assembled to deal with a monster tearing up Alphabet City."

"Let me make this real clear," Mary-Jane hissed. "Spider-Man's benched. Find yourself someone else to make amends to."

"MJ," Stark said pleadingly.

"Try Captain America," she suggested, then hung up.

_Fucking spider-sense_.

Peter was up, holding a hand to his side and only looking at her so much as he wasn't looking at the closet where his spare spider-suit was kept. If it wasn't one thing…

"No," she said firmly. "No. I won't have it. You owe me more than that."

Peter got to his feet and Mary-Jane practically ran to his side. She took hold of him before he crashed, five feet away from the door.

"Stop! Just leave it in there!"

"Well, I can't very well go out looking like this, can I?" Peter joked.

"Not funny." She got closer to him, wrapping her arms around his back… he seemed so frail, then, the usual understated power of his physique impossible to find… and putting her forehead gently against his. She stared into the eye that wasn't swollen shut. "You remember what you promised me when you joined the Avengers? You said that they would help you shoulder your responsibility."

"And do more good with their help," Peter finished. "They need me!"

MJ put a hand on his cheek. "Peter, I know this is a difficult concept for you, but _the world does not have to fall entirely on your shoulders_. They can find another superhero to help them."

"And what if someone gets hurt?"

"Someone already has been hurt!" Mary-Jane thumped him on the chest, earning a sharp "ouch!" from Peter. "_You!_"

Rubbing his sore chest, Peter sat back down on the couch. "I wish…"

"I know."

"I love you."

She sauntered over to him. "I know that too."

He let himself be laid back down, still smarting from the pain. Mary-Jane knelt down beside the couch, resting her head on the cushion beside his.

"I know the world needs Spider-Man, but I need you too. I… I understand the time may come when you have to lay down your life for a cause. But there's a difference between sacrifice and throwing your life away for _nothing_. Sometimes it's as if you have a death wish, it's as if…"

"As if what, MJ?" Peter said dully.

"It's as if you'd rather be with the people you've lost then with me."

Peter closed his eyes for a long moment. Then opened them.

"There is nowhere I'd rather be than with you. And I'm not…" He gritted his teeth. "I've learned not to feel guilty if I do my best and fail anyway. You can't win them all. But if I don't try."

"You _did_ try. You beat Doc Ock, you beat his men. Now cut yourself a little slack. Please, give me some peace of mind."

After another moment, an eternal moment for Mary-Jane, he sighed and smiled weakly. "You deserve someone you can make you happier than I can."

"No one could do that," she said before kissing him. Superpowers did have their virtues; he'd healed enough for it not to hurt. "Except maybe Orlando Bloom…"

He swatted her on the backside as she walked away. And although she knew he was sleeping more or less contentedly, she stayed glued to the television channel showing the Avengers' battle. They'd called in Nova and Wolverine to thicken their ranks. In the end, the villain was apprehended with no casualties. She could've wept with relief.

Mary-Jane knew that if someone had died, Peter would've blamed himself. Why was it that it was the blameless people who always held themselves accountable and the assholes who came up with self-justification after self-justification. God knew how she loved Peter, how he was responsible and yet still adventurous and fun-loving, but how she wished he would take the easy road once in a while. It was good that he was critical of himself, but his standards were so high… the standards of a nostalgic memory of Uncle Ben, a standard that no loving parent could've expected his son to live up to. She wished she knew how she could broach the subject with Peter and not offend him.

Then she saw the small ticker on the bottom of the screen saying that Ock had escaped. With a sinking feeling bottoming out the pit of her stomach, Mary-Jane rushed from the bedroom back into the living room. The old, bloody costume lay in tatters on the floor; the window was open and the curtains fluttered in the breeze.

On the windowsill was a post-it. "I'm feeling a lot better, really," it read.

Some day, he'd learn that there was more to power than great responsibility. Mary-Jane just hoped he'd live long enough to find that out.


End file.
